


pull out my soul, and put it in your mouth to be full

by thecaptainjames



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: F/F, M/M, Temporary Character Death, discussions of derealization, i am a tender gay and so are they, in which the author tripped and gave everyone autism, vague descriptions of gore and violence, yearning(tm)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:27:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28021653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecaptainjames/pseuds/thecaptainjames
Summary: Ten years after their first deaths together, and shortly after reuniting from a painful separation, Yusuf and Nicolò meet Andromache and Quynh. Having just reached a tentative new understanding about their futures together, hearing that their immortality has limits is far from good news and the two of them must yet again attempt to express their honest feelings for one another.He melts into the embrace, the same kind of embrace Nicolò had forced himself to resist sweeping Yusuf into when he had spotted the man pacing on the docks, impatiently awaiting his arrival when they finally reunited.“All will be well, my Nicolò, no matter what happens,” Yusuf says into his ear, and Nicolò believes him.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova & Quynh | Noriko, Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 15
Kudos: 128





	pull out my soul, and put it in your mouth to be full

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goldheartedsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldheartedsky/gifts).



> For Goldie, this is a story inspired by the music of the band Empires. Title is from their song Voodooized and the narrative playlist I made to follow the story can be found [here](https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PL3jz74YExYZYQpV9lXKDY1TO_DegduOJd). (I would link to spotify, but their first album is tragically not hosted there and no one else can see my local files, so youtube it is.)

The longer their battle goes on, the more desperate their fighting becomes; training and skill eventually giving way to exhaustion and exasperation. They’re battered and worn, stumbling and seething at each other, confused and furious. Yusuf feels himself being dragged to the ground by frantic hands at his belt; he’s flung flat on to his back, winded, and the dagger he had just stabbed into his enemy’s thigh is returned to him, plunged aimlessly into his chest with a frustrated roar. Colorful spots dancing at the edge of his vision, and in his final moments yet again, it’s all Yusuf can do to summon the energy to grasp the other by the front of his mail and drag him down onto the upturned blade of his sword. 

The man’s eyes grow wide with an indignant rage as he shoves at Yusuf’s shoulders in a futile attempt to push himself away, gasping as his lungs fill with blood, but Yusuf forces him down closer, twisting the blade up harder as much as his faltering grip will allow. The man groans in pain and shudders above him as his strength begins to leave him, blood coughed from his mouth across Yusuf’s face below him before his expression contorts into a vengeful, determined grimace. His shaking hands scrabble between them where the dagger is half-sunk between Yusuf’s ribs and Yusuf is helpless to stop him from grasping it weakly and pulling himself closer, further onto the blade in his stomach in order to exert the last of his energy to sink his dying weight down against the hilt. Yusuf grits his teeth through the agony of the dagger being forced deeper into his chest, glaring up into his enemy’s mirrored defiant stare as long as he can before his sight is steadily overtaken by a now-familiar darkness. He can feel the heat of their blood spilling warm between them and the man’s last breaths heaving ragged and hot against his own; both stubbornly refusing to be the first to succumb to their inevitable deaths before they wake again and begin their next battle. 

\---

Nicolò has just managed to steady his breathing when he hears footsteps coming down the hill behind him, deliberate in their noise to announce themselves. Andromache appears up ahead and pauses, appraising him where he sits awkwardly semi-sprawled in the wet grass. He hadn’t strayed far, just back down the path they’ve taken to where the break in the treeline allows him to see the sky, where it lessens the suffocating feeling of the dense leafy treetops.

“I should not have left like that, I apologize,” he says and she shrugs as she takes a seat on the ground next to him. Her face is pinched, frustrated. She’s been guarded since their meeting, somber and severe and allowing Quynh to do most of the talking. Nicolò is unsure of what to make of her and senses that the feeling is reciprocated.

“If this is any consolation,” she replies finally, slightly strained and her jaw clenched. “This was the first time either of us have been able to tell anybody the full truth about it, or who Lykon even was. I think it’s safe to say we all feel panicked right now.”

Any relief he feels from the reassurance doesn’t quite manage to outweigh the guilt he feels twist in his heart. He doesn’t want his behavior to be excused; it was rude to flee, selfish of him to leave Yusuf behind like that when he knows they share the same fears. The fear that had been evident in eyes that Nicolò refused to meet as Quynh and Andromache told their story, and Lykon’s. He had felt Yusuf’s stare against the side of his face, had seen his growing concern in his peripheral vision. Had heard the soft, desperate utterance of his name as his panic finally boiled over and brought him stumbling to his feet in cowardice and away from his companion.

"Is he upset?” He has every right to be, Nicolò thinks, he _should_ be upset.

“Maybe a little,” she says after a thoughtful pause. “More worried, I think. About you. Which, if you are anything like me, usually feels worse.” Nicolò huffs a noise of agreement, shrugging and nodding, and Andromache’s expression twitches into a small smile. He feels himself relax a little at the sight, one that’s familiar from his dreams but something he has had yet to see in their brief time in person up until now. “You needed to know the truth, but I apologize if we have caused distress between the two of you,” she adds. 

“I am glad to know,” he sighs into the quiet air, annoyed at the contradictions warring in his mind, weary of dizzying defeat from his own circulative thought processes. “Though, I fear where this will leave us. We only just--” 

He falters, turning to her with a growing clarity that this is the first honest conversation he’s had about his predicament, a conversation with no lies of omission needed. After so many years of discussions with Yusuf, obfuscated with shame and fear, and discussions with acquaintances and strangers, layered with cautious metaphors, he is overwhelmed by the knowledge that Andromache will understand clearly whatever it is he has to say. Dreaming of each other for ten years must account for some level of trust, he hopes, and thinks she feels the same when she reaches out to put her hand comfortingly over his knee. She says nothing, but the quiet is unoppressive, patient to let him make the next move.

“When Yusuf and I killed each other for the first time, on the battlefield, I was proud that I was dying victorious in God’s name. I thought I knew what would come next, I had been prepared for it. Then to wake and die again and again with the man I only knew as my enemy, I… I could only assume that I had been damned. That I was being tested. Even when we stopped killing each other -- if not a test of devotion, then maybe a test of my humanity, of my ability to change. I was always trying to find an explanation for it all. Like there was a final answer to put an end to whatever this was.” He pauses for a breath, feeling frustratingly incoherent. He’s had years to think about how to explain himself better since his disastrous admission to Yusuf, and still finds himself falling short. 

“And Yusuf?” Andromache asks. He knew the point of clarification would come, but guilt flays him open all the same and leaves a bitter taste in his mouth as he answers. 

“Yusuf was just part of the test.” The words spoken aloud so bluntly for the first time hurt more than any fatal blow Yusuf had ever delivered when they had fought all those years before and he wishes desperately that they had never been true. “A guide for me to follow in my journey towards absolution, I thought. I learned from him, I listened to his stories, I let him open my eyes to a new world, and I believed that I was bettering myself, but I may as well have been traveling with a storybook for all I saw of him as another human being. I was nothing but selfish. And Yusuf… he was a temptation that I swore to God that I would resist.” 

Andromache’s expression hardens for a long moment before she makes a quiet, thoughtful noise, turning to look out at where the sun is starting to set on the horizon. He can feel her grow tense from the minute flex of her fingers.

“I had been alone for so long, by the time I found Quynh.” Her grip tightens as she searches for the proper phrasing, but he says nothing, knowing that any bruises left behind will heal easily. “There have been many times I have questioned my sanity, when reality has felt… Slippery. Unsteady.”

He recognizes the sorrow in her cadence, recognizes the familiar shameful weight the words carry.

“When I began to dream of her, I thought that was the only place she existed -- a fantasy my mind had created after finally descending into madness. And I became dependent upon her image when the dreams persisted over the years. Once I began to realize she was real, it still took me decades just to find her. And when I did-- after a century of seeing each other in our dreams, we had to adjust to each other as real people. Her presence changed the rules of everything I had known to be true for so long, and she was still just as confused as I was and--” 

Nicolò puts his hand gently over hers when her carefully maintained composure finally slips, voice catching and her eyes growing wet. She closes them to gather herself before turning back to face him. 

“It had been so long since I had felt human, before I met her,” she says softly, and Nicolò knows this admission is just as novel to say aloud as his own had been. She clears her throat, squeezes his knee again and offers him a hesitant smile. “But I still felt delirious at times, like I was only just dreaming about her. I was never entirely convinced she was real.” 

It startles him to hear what sounds like his own internal monologue spoken aloud and exposed to the world to hear. He feels laid bare, the memory of the fateful discussion with Yusuf two years prior brings a hollow pain to his chest and a sharp sting to his eyes. He remembers with clarity the way similar words had hung heavy in the air between them and how Yusuf’s expression had gone flat and blank in a way he had never seen before, unrecognizable to Nicolò. The kind warmth that Nicolò had been so accustomed to had left his eyes in an instant and Nicolò hates that he was the one to cause it.

“I only became more confused as time passed just as it always had. The figment became more realized with each day we spent together, but even as my interpretation of what was happening evolved, the doubt lingered. That the moment I allowed myself to have what I wanted, it would be ripped away and I would be condemned for my weakness. When I told him so-” He forces his breath to steady when nausea begins to grow in the pit of his stomach. “We agreed that it would be best to separate for a time-- that it would ground me. And he was right,” he lets out a humorless laugh. “As he always is, but being away from him was torture regardless.” Not that Nicolò had voiced such feelings aloud to him.

“When you dreamt of us, did you feel our emotions as well?” Andromache asks suddenly and he feels confused by the new line of conversation.

“Things were often unclear, but most of the time, yes. I felt you die on occasion, which was unpleasant. Grief and exhaustion that make more sense now that I know your story. I could feel,” he stops himself, glancing at her uncertainly and she raises an eyebrow knowingly, gesturing for him to continue. “I could feel your love for Quynh. And hers for you.” 

“And would you be surprised to hear that we could feel the same from you?” 

He feels his face grow warm with embarrassment; he thinks he should be anxious, unsure of what exactly they were privy to in their dreams, but instead feels a sense of relief and gratitude that he and Yusuf are not alone in this.

“It made it easier to catch up to you, ultimately. Your reunion was one of the clearest dreams we ever had.” She leans in closer, jostling his leg and grinning. “We had a lot of theories about the two of you over the years. Tried piecing together your story from the glimpses we got. I am glad to finally hear the real thing, this is the version I prefer.” 

“It took us some time to realize you were lovers,” he admits with a returning grin and she gives him an incredulous look. “The dreams were scattered enough that it was difficult to see. But one night, we had a dream of you by the fireside together. You had your head against her chest and she was stroking your hair and you took her hand and kissed her wrist. Neither Yusuf and I spoke about it when we woke up, but,” he fights a wider smile at the memory, so long ago now but still clear in his mind. “I kept catching him staring at my hands throughout the day.” Andromache laughs, loud enough to startle a bird from a treetop above. “I remember wanting the comfort I felt from that dream. That one day I would have that with him.” 

“You will,” she promises. “Quynh and I have had centuries together and we will have many more, you and Yusuf will have plenty of time.” He feels his smile fade then.

“Will we?” he asks, anxious thoughts returning to Lykon and the grief that Andromache and Quynh carry with them still. She fixes him with a determined look, grip tightening on his leg again.

“You will,” she promises again.

\---

Quynh is alone when they return to their campsite, breaking twigs absentmindedly and flicking them into the fire. Andromache goes to her side, and Nicolò tries not to feel envious of how effortlessly they orbit each other, both leaning in as if they had been apart far longer than they had. Quynh glances over to where he stands awkwardly at a distance and nods her head in the direction they agreed to take the next morning. 

It doesn’t take Nicolò long to locate him. The trees begin to thin out closer to the side of the mountain where the cliffside offers a sprawling view of the rolling hills and open sky. Yusuf had made it a habit to draw the scenery as they traveled, and Nicolò is endeared to see that this has not changed during their separation, finding him perched on a large stone near the edge for a better vantage of the river below. The moon above casts everything in a gorgeous pale glow and he understands why this would be a view Yusuf would want to remember, but Nicolò can hardly focus on anything other than the way the light seems to halo Yusuf’s curls. 

The sight weakens him. Fatigued at the mere thought of returning to the false narrative that he has been telling for so long after admitting everything aloud just moments before, he feels like he’s bursting at the seams and the carefully constructed walls that he has built from half-truths are crumbling as he gazes upon the ethereal image of his love bathed in moonlight. He aches with the desire to hold Yusuf in his arms, to kiss him and touch him and feel his warmth. And he has no one but himself to blame for not having done so already.

He forces himself to stop a pace behind him so as to not disturb his work and Yusuf’s head tilts to acknowledge his presence, but he keeps sketching, clearly waiting for Nicolò to speak first. 

“I am sorry,” he says softly, and Yusuf’s hand stills. “I should not have left you.” 

“You are forgiven, of course,” he hears Yusuf murmur before he continues with his drawing, and he has to shut his eyes tight against the wave of guilt.

“I hardly deserve it.” 

“And yet, you have it anyway,” Yusuf counters quickly, voice wry and Nicolò can practically see the fond exasperation on his face. 

“I should not have left you before, either. I should have stayed.” Yusuf turns his head at this, not quite looking back at him directly, but enough that Nicolò can see his face pinch into a frown.

“You know I would not have let you.”

The anguish in his voice spurs Nicolò into movement at last, the need to remedy the hurt he has caused growing more powerful than his nerves. He steels himself and moves closer to lower himself to sit on the ground behind him tentatively, turned so he can curl his arm around Yusuf’s middle without disturbing his drawing. He can feel the muscles there tense with the sharp inhale his proximity and touch causes, pulse rabbiting under his ear where he presses his cheek against the space between his shoulder blades.

“I do not wish to ever be parted from you again, and I regret that I made it necessary,” he says mournfully against the soft material of Yusuf’s cloak. “Our time apart was agony, but you were right in that it would help me. I promised that I would do better by you and I am ashamed that I already failed.”

He feels more than hears the grumbled noise that Yusuf makes before the warmth of his hand covers his own where it presses against Yusuf’s stomach.

“You have hardly failed me, Nicolò, we have both found ourselves in uncharted territory again. I am just as afraid of it as you are.” Nicolò holds him closer, lifting his head slightly from where he was hidden. He can only see part of Yusuf’s face from this angle, but he can see the way his eyes are glassy with unshed tears. “My only consolation these past years was that when we reunited, things would be better for us. We would be able to start again with a new understanding of each other, leave any doubt behind. Now I fear that you will-” He trails off, but Nicolò understands what he means to say, knows that it hurts him just as much to think about now as it did before.

“There are many things I still doubt, but not you, ever again. But I will always fear losing you. I do not think I could bear to someday not have this with you, in any capacity.”

The words are so quiet he thinks maybe he went unheard, but then Nicolò feels Yusuf’s grip tighten over his hand and lift it from where it was tangled into his tunic. His thumb rubs slowly and soothingly over his knuckles, the gentle touch prickling down from the nape of Nicolò’s neck in a shiver, a warning sign before lightning strikes alongside Yusuf’s lips against the sensitive skin of his inner wrist. The shiver melts into a dull ache that roils up from the base of his spine to where his hand flexes under Yusuf’s, trapped between his warm palm and the soft scratch of his beard. His eyes shut tight against the barrage of sensation, his right hand clutching desperately at Yusuf’s cloak as he tilts his face back down against Yusuf’s shoulder blade, gasping and unable to stop the soft curse that spills from his lips, and feels Yusuf’s smile pressed to his palm. 

“Sometimes I think your mind is so loud that you cannot hear yourself.” And Nicolò cannot help the embarrassing snort he tries and fails to muffle. He can only imagine what Andromache would say if she were here to witness this.

“That would be an understatement,” he mumbles, and feels the man’s shoulders shake with silent laughter. He keeps Nicolò’s hand against his face, tilting his jaw into his palm and Nicolò cannot resist stroking his thumb over the apple of his cheek; feels warmth spread through him at the soft sigh the touch brings. 

“I have craved to touch you with every fibre of my being,” he finds himself confessing, so different from his confession that led to their parting. “But I could not allow myself to do so because I feared you would be taken from me the moment I did.”

Another gentle kiss is given, warm and reassuring against his palm. “Then what is this?” 

Nicolò pauses, finding it increasingly more difficult to ruminate on his fears when he has Yusuf held warm against him. He wants nothing more than to forget they must have this conversation before moving forward. 

“I am tired of being scared of the hypothetical futures I create in my mind. Before, it was doubt of my reality and of you, but now to learn that you being taken from me _is_ possible. That you could die as Lykon did and I would have to live on without you. I-- I am tired of feeling frozen by my own indecision and fear. It has brought us nothing but hurt and I cannot let us enter this new chapter without finishing the one before.” Yusuf goes quiet and contemplative, but nuzzles into Nicolò’s hand again.

“And how does the one before end?” If Nicolò had not known Yusuf as well as he does, he would have missed the tremor in his voice. “Does the new chapter continue where we leave off? Or do we start somewhere else?”

“I do not know,” his voice cracks into a whisper and tears are coming suddenly as his breath heaves and he tries to duck his head again, but Yusuf turns towards him before he can, discarding his long-forgotten parchment and pulls him close with his free arm around his shoulders to tuck his face into his neck. Nicolò clings to him in return and it should be awkward with their tangled arms and the way Yusuf has to hunch over, but Nicolò has felt no greater comfort. 

“I do not, either,” Yusuf reassures and Nicolò can feel tears against his skin and attempts to reciprocate the comfort of the embrace, wiping at the corner of Yusuf’s eye and rubbing up and down his spine. 

Yusuf’s hand leaves his own where it cups his cheek, moving to comb fingers through his hair, thumb caressing his temple in a soothing rhythm. He curls his arm tighter, pulling them closer together, and presses his lips tenderly to his brow before the hand in his hair tilts his face to touch their foreheads together. 

“Do you want to know what I think?” Nicolò nods helplessly, because of course he wants to know.

“That we would not have died together if we were not destined to do it again, in the end. God chose us both for a reason and I refuse to believe it is for anything less than for us to spend our full lives together, protecting each other and the world. You said ‘in any capacity’, and we have time to figure out what means, there is no rush.” The surge of newfound affection leaves Nicolò light-headed.

“I wish I had your clarity,” he laughs wetly and Yusuf laughs in return, his smile infectious as he bumps their noses together gently. 

“Trust me, I do not feel any clarity in my mind, I must hide it well.”

“I do. Trust you.” Yusuf’s smile softens, warm and adoring.

“I am glad, my love, you know I feel the same,” he says, and Nicolò knows he would do anything to hear Yusuf call him that again, wants to hear it forever. Yusuf shifts again, moving to stand and helps Nicolò up from the ground. “Let us return to our new friends before it gets any later?”

Nicolò nods and means to move away, but is stopped by Yusuf’s hand tightening around his own again, pulling Nicolò back firmly to him. His arms instinctively wrap tightly up around his shoulders despite never experiencing Yusuf’s touch like this, solid and warm against him from head to toe. He melts into the embrace, the same kind of embrace Nicolò had forced himself to resist sweeping Yusuf into when he had spotted the man pacing on the docks, impatiently awaiting his arrival when they finally reunited; it had hardly been a fortnight ago but feels like an age. 

“All will be well, my Nicolò, no matter what happens,” Yusuf says into his ear, and Nicolò believes him.

\---

Yusuf should have known that, with all of Nicolò’s expressed fears of losing Yusuf, it would be Nicolò to be the one to perish first. Andromache’s melancholy voice echoes loudly in Yusuf’s head, “ _Nothing that lives, lives forever”_ , as he and Quynh are rendered useless, unable to do anything from where they stand except watch as the fort wall opposite them begins to crumble after the echoing _boom_ from the lower levels, undoubtedly where Andromache and Nicolò had been. 

It’s an ugly thing. Yusuf has seen his share of brutality and horrors over the years, but nothing could have braced him for what greets them when, excruciating _hours_ later when their hands are scraped and bleeding, he and Quynh are finally able to clear enough rubble and debris to unearth their companions. He has to fight the bile threatening to rise up as they free them from the wreckage, gagging at the viscera. He feels weak at the sight of their broken and crushed bodies, vision blurring and his hands shaking where they hover over Nicolò’s bloody face, as if afraid his touch would make the damage any worse than it already is. 

Surely, there is no coming back from this, he thinks desperately, that this must be where they will discover the limitations to their abilities. 

His pulse pounds in his ears and Quynh’s concerned voice calling his name sounds distant and muffled until gentle hands cup his face, trying to pull his tunnel-visioned attention away from the gore of Nicolò’s torso. He resists looking away; feels wild and disoriented as the world around him rushes back into focus. “ _Yusuf_ , please look at me,” Quynh pleads softly, pulling his forehead against hers. “Breathe for me now, okay?” He tries, not realizing he hadn't been and his chest burns with the inhale.

“Look,” she says, reaching down to brush Nicolò’s matted hair from his forehead. “He is healing, Yusuf, he will be alright.” Her fingertips trail over Nicolò’s face and when Yusuf makes himself focus, he can see where the smaller cuts and lacerations hidden under the blood and grime are knitting themselves back together. His head swims, suddenly dizzy, and he slumps against her in relief. It had been so easy before to convince himself that life would not be so cruel to take Nicolò from him like this, but there was no preparation he could have done for facing the very real possibility. Not like this; not with Nicolò’s body mangled beyond recognition and so slow to heal that it feels like finality. 

“I wish I could tell you that you will get used to it,” he hears Quynh say and he looks up blearily to follow her gaze to where Andromache heals just as slowly. “Ever since Lykon, there is a moment of fear now, with each time. We used to be so reckless before, we thought we were indestructible, and now sometimes it feels like we are just baiting death. It never gets easier.” 

“Andromache would say it was worth it, I suppose,” he mutters, looking back down to where Nicolò’s face is beginning to look familiar again. 

“She would, as would I. Despite the pain it brings. Only we can do what we can, so we must.” She tears her eyes away from Andromache, looks back to Yusuf with a sad smile. “And I think that is a reason she is not alone in this anymore. And why you and Nicolò are not alone, either.” 

He reaches out, finally touching Nicolò gently, strokes over his brow and his nose. It has been weeks since they held each other on the cliffside, since Yusuf has felt his warmth. They both have been cautious, waiting to see what would happen next and letting the world around them dictate their next move. He feels foolish now, knowing Nicolò would have died permanently with his regrets racing through his mind, if this had been his time. 

Andromache wakes first, groaning through the pain of her crushed legs still mending themselves. Nicolò’s torso is still barely healed when he revives and Yusuf has to hold his shoulders down to keep him from convulsing in panic and reopening his wounds. His frightened, pained cries pierce Yusuf’s heart and he wishes there was more he could do to console him than just words and holding him still. Nicolò clutches weakly at his arms, gasping his name before his eyes roll back and he succumbs to the pain. 

When he wakes again later, he is quiet and severe, his gaze is steady and determined in a way Yusuf has only seen before in battle. 

It takes nearly a full day’s travel to the lodging Andromache had secured before their expedition, technically successful though Yusuf hardly feels that it was, and they had certainly expected to be in better shape upon arrival than they are. They are all filthy and bloody, Nicolò and Andromache more so, and they attract some odd stares as they cross through town to the outskirts where scattered homes are built into the hills. They’re running on nerves and adrenaline by the time they get to the house, relieved to be able to get properly cleaned, clothed, and fed. 

Yusuf scrubs Nicolò’s dried blood from his hands in the basin in their room as he watches the other man grimace at the state of himself when he inspects his dirty skin and tattered clothing. They have barely spoken since Nicolò revived, too concerned about reaching their destination first. Nicolò had been serious and eerily calm and Yusuf had caught him staring several times, his expression maintaining the same intensity each time. That same intensity that focuses on him now from across the room. 

“I should go out to the well, I fear the water we have will not suffice for me,” he says, fresh clothing in hand. Yusuf nods, drying his hands and tracking Nicolò’s movements to the door. 

“Nicolò, you are well?” He turns in the doorway and Yusuf is relieved to see him smile and dip his head in a short nod. 

“I am well, my love,” he says, and is gone, leaving Yusuf with a shocked grin and renewed energy. 

He cleans and changes and wanders down the hall, finding Quynh setting out plates of food near the hearth where a fire is beginning to roar. There is still no sign of Nicolò or Andromache and they assume they will take longer than they are willing to wait to eat. They devour their meals together in a happy silence, comforted by the warmth of the flames and food that is not going stale. 

Quynh begins to doze on the cushions, and he takes his leave quietly with a kiss pressed to the top of her head. She smiles sleepily up at him and squeezes his hand; a silent understanding of their feelings about earlier. He feels restless, impatient to speak to Nicolò properly again, and takes a lamp out onto the courtyard and into the refreshing cool night. Perched on the wide ledge overlooking the hill, he almost wishes he had brought his charcoal to capture the view, but knows he would be too distracted to finish. For now, he is content to wait, thoughts only of Nicolò’s parting endearment. 

\---

Nicolò has scrubbed his skin pink by the time he feels like himself again and his arms ache from the effort it took. In clean clothing, he and Andromache head back inside to find Quynh alone, half-asleep in front of the fire. Andromache immediately curls up behind her, pressing a gentle kiss behind her ear as she reaches out for the plate of grapes and bread in arm’s reach. Nicolò is surprised to find himself unbothered by Yusuf’s absence, content to eat his fill and be warmed by the fire after using the nearly ice-cold water from the well. 

The sight waiting for him on the balcony warms him further despite the slight chill; a serene moment in the calm night, a mirror of their moment on the moonlit cliff when he had still been too scared to act upon his feelings. His fears forgotten for now, he is at Yusuf’s side in an instant, joining him on the ledge and winding his arms around him.

“You are so beautiful in the moonlight, my Yusuf,” he murmurs into the curve of his neck and delights in the rumbled laughter it brings. 

“You are more joyful than I expected you to be after today,” Yusuf says, tilting his head back against Nicolò’s shoulder and reveling in their closeness. 

“My death was certainly not joyful, for myself or for you, I am sure,” Nicolò confirms and Yusuf hums his assent. “Though, perhaps it was what needed to happen in order for me to realize that regret in immortality is no different than regret in my mortal life. And I cannot let another day pass by knowing that I was too afraid to be completely honest with myself, or with you.” 

Yusuf pulls away far enough to turn and face him directly, appraising the focused gleam in Nicolò’s eyes that has nothing to do with the light of the moon or the flames of the lamp next to them. 

“You say it as if I do not already know,” he says, an almost-question that Nicolò answers fervently, reaching to take Yusuf’s hand and Yusuf feels a flush crawl up his neck when Nicolò maintains his stare as he lifts it to his lips, pressing gentle kisses over his knuckles

“I said ‘in any capacity’ before, but I cannot bear it any longer, Yusuf. I do not want you to think I am here with you only because I believe God wills it. It is also my choice. I am choosing to stay with you and I am choosing to love you.” 

“Nicolò,” he says weakly, and Nicolò smiles, eyes twinkling, and turns his hand over to press another kiss against his wrist that sends his heart racing. 

“I love you, Yusuf, beyond all measure and reason.” 

\---

Nicolò sets the lamp upon the table next to the bed, turns to watch Yusuf close the door behind them. The noise of it shutting seems to echo loudly in the room, the tension shifting with it. 

Their eyes never waver from each other as Yusuf moves in closer and Nicolò sways into the embrace easily when Yusuf takes his hand to tug him near, grasping gently at the hem of his tunic in a silent request for permission that Nicolò grants with a pleased hum.

Yusuf looks down between them, where his left hand wrinkles the material in a tight fist, his right hovering against Nicolò’s hip. He lifts the material up slowly, until he he can see the unblemished skin of his side; the images of the gore are still fresh in his memory and he traces his fingertips over the now nonexistent wounds as if he can’t believe his eyes until his fingertips confirm that the muscle is intact and unharmed. Nicolò reaches to tug his tunic up by the collar and off completely, tossing it to the side and grounding himself with hands clasped at the back of Yusuf’s neck and Yusuf feels his mouth against his hairline, a trail of kisses scattered down his jaw.

Nicolò tilts his head down to follow his gaze to where his fingertips knead firmly into the curve of his stomach. At the soft moan of his name, he finally lifts his eyes to meet Nicolò’s again, and feels the same bright intensity he had been the focus of all day. 

He’s pulled in closer, thumbs stroking down over his cheekbones and into his beard. Their lips hover against each other’s in a near-kiss, both tense with anticipation of tipping over the precipice of an unknown that they’re both anxious and desperate to discover. Their possible future of thousands of years shared together looms overhead and fills the minute space between their lips. Stopping now for further contemplation seems like an impossibility as Nicolò brings Yusuf’s mouth gently against his. 

The kiss consumes them quickly, the years of longing and frustration suddenly rushing up to overwhelm them both and turning the kiss frantic. Nicolò moans around Yusuf’s tongue, his hands cupping his face so close their mouths begin to bruise under the pressure. Yusuf’s hands clench tight at his hips, bringing Nicolò as close as possible against him, soaking up his warmth and the way he writhes in his arms. 

“Yusuf, I-” he gasps, and Yusuf silences him with another deep kiss and moves them, easing them back on to the bed. It is far from the first time they have shared a bed, but it will be the first time they will not be carefully maintaining the space between them, both utterly desperate to feel the other.

Yusuf pulls away, chuckling at the angry noise Nicolò makes when their lips part, and props himself up remove his clothes and the rest of Nicolò’s, pausing to drink in the sight of Nicolò spread out underneath him, a sight to behold in the warm lamplight next to them and the pale light streaming in through the window. He voices as much and follows the blush his words bring with his lips, down his chest before his attention returns once more to the man’s ribs and his stomach, unable to shake the image of the severe injury he had no choice but to watch slowly heal for far too long. He shifts down, trailing wet, biting kisses down his side until he has Nicolò squirming and clutching at his shoulders. 

“Yusuf, _what_ ,” he pants up at the ceiling, unsure of how to react to the attention Yusuf is doting upon his stomach. Yusuf gentles, calming his sucking bruises to worshipful movements of his tongue, rubbing his beard against the soft skin and watching pink bloom and disappear just as quickly. Nicolò’s hands move to the nape of his neck, fingers petting the shorter curls there and he groans, lifting his head just enough to see Nicolò’s flushed face. 

“I wish to never see you in such a state ever again,” he says, kissing his way back up to capture swollen lips against his own.

“I wish I could promise it to you,” Nicolò sighs between the thorough kisses that become messier as their bodies move together; any remaining patience quickly giving way to demand and frenzy. His hands slide down to Yusuf’s hips and he only has a second to brace himself before Nicolò rolls them, gasping against his mouth when his back hits the bed and Nicolò presses down against him and rolls their hips together. He clenches his eyes shut, feeling embarrassingly close to completion already just at the feel of Nicolò’s weight bearing down upon him, strong thighs clenched tight against his sides, and it’s all Yusuf can do to summon the strength to cling to him, to press his hands to the base of Nicolò’s spine and drag him down harder against him.

Nicolò rears up with a gasp, eyes growing wide as a shudder wracks through his body, his breath turning into ragged pants as his hands scrabble to find leverage against Yusuf’s shoulders to move them together faster, and Yusuf is helpless but to look up at him in awe, his hands sliding reverently over the tremble of his thighs and the clench of his stomach as Nicolò becomes unsteady in his movements, and urges him back down into another messy kiss and they shudder against each other, gasps of pleasure muffled into each other’s open mouths. Nicolò tilts back for a better angle and they both go still when his hand pushes down hard against his chest.

Time dilates in that moment as the pressure of Nicolò’s hand seems to force the breath from his lungs and their eyes lock in mirrored shocked recognition. Their labored breathing is thunderous between them and Nicolò curiously drags his fingertips firmly against an injury that hasn’t existed for a decade. The touch draws a soft gasp from Yusuf’s parted lips and Nicolò leans over him again, forcing his weight down on to the hand pressed over Yusuf’s heart as he seals their mouths together again and Yusuf’s body throbs with the sudden release he finds, spilling warm between them with with a wounded moan and his lip trapped between Nicolò’s teeth, pulling him down tight into his arms as he rolls his hips through the aftershocks until Nicolò finds his own shuddered completion, clutching Yusuf close.

They lie there, panting into each other’s mouths until Yusuf feels a soft laugh bubble up from his chest, tilting them to the side and Nicolò sprawls out next to him with a satisfied hum. Yusuf presses gentle kisses against his shoulder and down to his side once again, doting in his attention as the exhaustion of the day catches up to them and lulls them into an easy sleep, tangled around each other. 

\---

Yusuf wakes to soft sunlight streaming in through the window and Nicolò’s fingers smoothing over his brow and the slope of his nose. He squints an eye open and is greeted by Nicolò’s brilliant crooked smile, unlike any smile he has seen the man wear before. Cupping Yusuf’s face close, he trails his lips from the corner of his eye down to his mouth. 

“You are so beautiful in the sunlight, my Yusuf,” he murmurs, kissing the laughing smile his words bring. 

“Such poetry you have been blessing me with lately,” Yusuf coos, voice still raspy with sleep. 

"You deserve poetry after I have been silent for so long, my love." He grins wider when Yusuf makes a soft moan in the back of his throat and wraps his arms around Nicolò’s waist to roll him back onto the bed. 

“And I am not one to ever decline such a gift," he concedes with his mouth to Nicolò's jaw. "How are you feeling besides poetic?”

“Calm,” comes the soft response after another languid kiss between them. “No racing thoughts of our inevitable demise.” 

Yusuf strokes his thumb gently over Nicolò’s cheek, circles the beauty mark there, and tilts Nicolò’s face to look into his eyes. The gleam from the night before has softened, transformed into a gentle contentment in the morning light. 

“What if,” Yusuf says, pressing kisses down Nicolò’s neck and teasing his teeth against his collarbone. “What if it will not be so tragic. What if, one day we are cooking together and I cut myself and it does not heal? Or you will cut yourself shaving. What if,” he makes his voice husky, delighting in Nicolò’s stifled laugh when he speaks against Nicolò’s ear. “What if one morning we wake to realize the marks we left on each other the night before are still present?” Nicolò hums at that and Yusuf and nuzzles his nose into his hair and Nicolò shivers at the soft exhale of breath against his temple. “What if, in thousands of years, the world has long been peaceful and we have lived a life of bliss together, and one day I look at you and notice a hair has gone gray?” 

Nicolò pulls away, eyes roaming over Yusuf’s face in contemplation, reaching up to stroke over his curls, down over the line of his beard and Yusuf cannot resist kissing his fingertips when they pass.

“I think you will look quite handsome with gray in your beard,” he says finally and Yusuf’s surprised laughter echoes in the quiet of the morning, and Nicolò leans in to kiss his smile again.

**Author's Note:**

> A big thanks to Katie for being my beta, any mistakes left are my own. 
> 
> can be found at transmascbooker on tumblr :)


End file.
